


First Impressions

by Silence_Speaker



Series: Children Are A Blessing (When They Behave). [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Kidfic, Mother-Son Relationship, references past underage sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 11:25:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2506058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silence_Speaker/pseuds/Silence_Speaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last thing Arthur expected to hear mere hours before Lady Helen's scheduled performance was that he had a son. An eight year old son named Merlin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own BBC's Merlin. Anything recognisable comes from there.
> 
> This is a kidfic...seems to be a theme with me...
> 
> Anyway, in this fic time events in canon need to ignored with a prejudice. Seriously. The time scale for this story has been turned on its head. This part begins at the beginning of the first episode in the first series.
> 
> Warning: Small amount of violence and mentions of execution.
> 
> This is the first part of a series, I won't be re-writing every individual episode but some will get mentioned or altered.

Merlin gasped as his head was pushed back, shoved into the folds of his mother’s dress and held firmly so he could not see. He pushed away from the rough cloth that filled his mouth but the hand on his head made sure that he couldn’t move away any further.

His mother was firm in the press of her hand but Merlin could feel the slight tremble in her fingers belaying her not-quite-calm state. She moved, still pressing Merlin against her, and so he stumbled after feeling the crush of the crowd around him.

When they were out of the square his mother finally released him, letting him free.

He looked up at her, at the woman he called mother, the woman who he bore no resemblance to, and frowned as she brushed his fringe from his face.

“Why did you turn me away?” He asked, confused. She smiled sadly.

“Because I didn't want you to see such a thing, not just yet.” She answered quietly, cupping his face in her small roughened palm. He leaned into the caress because although he was a bit old for such things now (eight was quite old in his opinion), he wasn’t quite at the age to dismiss his need for his mother.

“Why was that man up there? Why did the guards have him? And what did the King mean?” Merlin asked, curiosity welling up inside.

His mother looked at him steadily before kneeling on the cobblestones, which surely wasn’t comfortable, and looked him in the eye.

“That man did...something against the law of Camelot and the King was using him as an example to stop others from doing the same thing. The guards were there to stop him running away and to protect the King and his people.” She explained, not slowly but not so quickly that Merlin couldn’t take in what she said.

“What law?” He asked, pressing further as he sensed something was being kept from him. She breathed in sharply and looked around to make sure no one was listening to them. Fortunately it seemed that a young boy and his mother was nothing interesting enough to watch.

She leaned in close, so her face was against his own and her warm breath fanned over his ear in a way that was almost ticklish. Merlin fought with the impulse to squirm away giggling. This was serious. Not a time for tickling, laughter and fun.

“He used magic, Merlin.” He gasped. “Now remember what we agreed about keeping it a secret?” Merlin nodded, eyes wide, a small flicker of what could be called fear working down his spine. “That stands doubly in Camelot.” Merlin nodded, his mouth was too dry to speak anyway.

His mother leaned away and got to her feet with a wince. Merlin swallowed. He tugged carefully at his mother’s dress when another thought occurred to him.

“What did he do wrong?” 

His mother pressed him against a brick wall and once again whispered so quietly that he had to strain to hear it.

“He used magic and that’s enough to get him executed.”

“But what did he do _wrong_?” Merlin pressed, an anxious frown crinkling his forehead.

“In some people’s eyes what he did was wrong.”

“But-”

“Merlin, shush now. This isn’t to be discussed in a public place.”

“But-”

“ _Merlin_.” It was a warning.

“Yes mother.” 

He forgot to frown when they walked through yet more streets, new places with different smells, sounds, sights, even a different feel than he had ever experienced before. The bustling area full of stone was so novel that thoughts of the earlier execution they had stumbled upon were soon wiped from his mind.

His mother led him, occasionally asking for direction from a guard here and there but Merlin was too lost in his surroundings to take real note of where they were headed.

It was only as his mother knocked politely on a door, then firmer when there was no response and then she even pushed it aside, stepping in carefully when there was still no answer that Merlin tuned back into reality.

The next few seconds were a blur to Merlin but he knew he’d broken the one proper rule his mother set him. He’d done magic in front of someone else. He didn’t exactly regret it, the man had been falling from the top of some steps and he would have been hurt if Merlin hadn’t done _something_ but he didn’t like to disappoint her.

It didn’t help that the man seemed both bewildered and almost angry at them once he got to his feet and off the pallet bed Merlin had moved to catch his fall.

Merlin didn’t hide behind his mother but he did admit that one of his hands gripped onto her skirts tightly. He didn’t like it when people shouted.

So he distracted himself from the adults conversation – now a lot quieter since the man had read a letter and gotten his shock out the way – by looking round. There were plenty of little bottles filled with funny coloured liquids, plenty of books (more than Merlin had ever seen before, even compared to the market stalls that sold them) and lots of things that Merlin didn’t even know the name of or what they were for.

He drifted away from his mother and examined the lowest bookshelf. Glancing at the titles and slowly sounding out the words in his mind. Some of the titles he didn’t understand, he didn’t know what they meant (and that was a bit silly having a book called something that you didn’t know about so couldn’t guess what was inside) and another few were written with funny shapes instead of letters. Maybe they were pictures?

He pulled one out at random; one of the funny titled ones and flipped it open. Inside it was written in words, words Merlin could read and there were pictures every now and then.

He straightened up in his seat on the ground when he realised that the book was about creatures he’d never seen before, ones with funny shapes like the one with the body of a lion and the wings and face of an eagle. The writing wasn’t that interesting but the information was enthralling enough for Merlin to brave through the text. Plus the pictures helped.

“-lin...Merlin...Merlin.” His mother softly called, gently shaking his shoulder. Merlin blinked, looking up from where he was reading about unicorns.

“It’s time for bed now, Merlin and you haven’t yet greeted Gaius. Although I can see you’re already well acquainted with one of his books.” A wry smile twisted her lips and Merlin grinned, closing the book carefully and slotting it back into its place on the shelf.

“Merlin, this is my uncle Gaius, he’s the court physician. Gaius this is Merlin.” His mother said, leading them to the man who had shouted earlier and who was watching them curiously.

The fire flickered merrily in the hearth casting shadows across the man’s warm-careful smile and it was only then that Merlin realised that it was dark outside. He covered a yawn with his hands.

“Hello.” He greeted sleepily, one hand gripping his mother’s skirts again but this time out of weariness rather than fear. They had travelled from Ealdor and it had taken _ages_.

“Hello, little man, I think you’re quite ready for bed now. Hunith, you two can take the room just through there, it isn’t much but it’s more private.”

“Thank you, Gaius. I know this was unexpected.”

“Unexpected maybe, but a pleasant surprise nonetheless. Goodnight.”

Merlin mumbled what he thought might have been something along the lines of a goodnight but it came out more as a garbled sigh as he yawned again into his mother’s dress.

 

#

 

“Gaius, you can’t be serious...what you’re saying has the capacity to cause unrest in the-where is your proof? You cannot expect me to take the word of a peasant woman.”

Gaius cleared his throat; he had not been anticipating telling the king. At best he would be believed and the boy accepted. At worst, well, he hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

“This, sire.” Gaius handed over the stained letter and clean broach pin. A broach pin Gaius hadn’t seen since Arthur was fifteen.

Uther read the letter, his face falling into a deeper crease the further he got. By the time he examined the pretty bejewelled pin the frown had spread even to his hairline. Gaius found it mildly impressive that Uther could pull off such a look of disapproval...but mainly he felt worry surge and boil in his veins. 

“If this is a trick...”

“It is true as far as I know, Sire, and I can’t deny the facts fit.”

Uther was silent for a long, few, terrible minutes. Gaius made sure not to even make a minute shift even though his aged bones protested. He was sure the worry wasn’t doing him any favours.

“Have you seen the boy?” Uther eventually asked. 

“Yes, Sire.” Gaius said, scanning his king carefully for any sign of his emotions. The flicker of curiosity was a saving grace Gaius was more than thankful for.

“Does he resemble Arthur?”

“Not all that much. Arthur was stronger as a child, broader, and the boy has black hair. However, for all the differences there is something of Arthur in his chin, lips and brow. Their eyes are the same shape if different shades of blue and they wear determination similarly.” Gaius answered slowly. “Hunith told me he’s a good lad, a little mischievous at times but clever and kind.”

“Hunith?”

“My niece. The woman who has looked after the boy since he was a babe after his mother passed away in childbirth.” Gaius explained.

Uther’s mouth twisted.

“Why did she not bring the boy here earlier? Why wait eight years?”

“She did not know the identity of the boy’s father, she took the mother in when she found her heavily pregnant near her village and tended to her until she birthed the boy. When she died Hunith took over as the lad’s mother. From what Hunith has said I gather she made a promise to take the lad to me along with the letter and broach when the boy was near adulthood.” Gaius answered slowly. He didn't want to get anyone in trouble but he would not lie. Not _yet_.

“Why did she come now? If she kept her promise for eight years, why come forward now?” Uther asked suspiciously.

“There was an incident,” Gaius paused and Uther waved at him to get to the point. “Some select people were searching for the boy, they knew of his connection to Camelot. Hunith only just managed to hide the boy in time. She felt the incident was a little too close a shave and so thought the lad might be safer with his father.” Gaius felt a small measure of guilt shift in his stomach.

He hadn’t been entirely truthful, but the truth (as far as Hunith knew it, Merlin was a little tight lipped on the subject) would get the young lad killed. It wasn’t even a lie, he had just...not told the whole story.

Uther remained in thought for another long time, enough for Gaius to wonder if perhaps he should have just torn up the letter and told Hunith to just live here with him with the lad as her son and no father in sight or distance.

No one would guess...the young boy wasn’t a splitting image of Arthur.

“Will you be informing Prince Arthur, Sire?” Gaius finally asked when he felt the silence had gone on too long.

“Yes. It’s his mistake. Send for him to come to my chambers immediately.”

“Of course, Sire.” Gaius bowed and made his way out of the room. Uther’s voice stopped him as he got to the door.

“What is my bastard grandson’s name?” Gaius halted, hand on the door knob and turned his head.

“Merlin.”

 

#

 

Merlin wandered around, scampering out of people’s way when they approached looking harried and busy and when they glared at him he moved out the way but glared back.

According to his mother some people didn’t like children.

Merlin found that silly, wasn’t everyone a child once? But he didn’t care to get shoved or shouted at so he kept his distance.

That didn’t stop him bumping into one or two people as they either moved too fast or he was too lost in the new sights but he was only yelled at once.

He avoided going to the square he had been to the day before but soon got lost. He knew he was near to the castle, and if he just asked a guard where the court physicians rooms where he would find his way back but the thrill of being somewhere new, of exploring without his mother’s hand holding his own was too powerful to resist.

A patch of green caught his eye and Merlin was scampering off once more, following the lure of the unknown.

 

#

 

He rolled his eyes as his servant once again moved the target the _wrong_ way. Didn’t he have a head on those shoulders? Enough to know _not_ to put targets in the sun?

He grimaced into the sun feeling the low throb at his temples of a headache that had been threatening all day. Well, ever since the council meeting and the chewing out he had suffered from his father.

Apparently even the onset of the celebrations was not enough to lighten Uther’s mood and Arthur had been chastised like a child for making his desire not to attend the feast known.

Sir Kay egged him on as his servant persisted on being exasperating.

“This’ll teach him.” Arthur muttered out the side of his mouth to Kay.

Arthur carefully lined up the shot, he didn’t want to actually hit the servant after all – stupidity wasn’t enough reason to physically hurt someone – and let the small throwing knife fly across the short distance and into the target with a satisfying ‘thunk’.

It was an easy target, impossible for someone with his training to miss really, but he still felt a bubble of pride well up. A small bubble, but it was his success. 

“Hey! Hang on!” His servant protested, coming to a halt and holding the target up as though to shield himself from further attack.

“Don’t stop!” Arthur called, fingers running over the next knife to check its balance. 

“Here?”

‘Thunk’

“I told you to keep moving.” Arthur ordered, fingering another knife. The target was moving so slowly it still wasn’t yet a challenge.

‘Thunk’

“Come on! Run!”

His servant finally got the idea and cowering behind the wooden target he moved a bit faster, heading down the field.

“Do you want some moving target practice?” Arthur asked his Knights with a grin.

‘Thunk’

The servant, Arthur never bothered asking for their names – they never stayed long – promptly dropped the target. It rolled to a gentle stop at some kid’s feet.

The kid examined the wooden board for a second, looking at it carefully, his pale face set in concentration.

Great. Another simpleton.

“I think you’ve had enough fun, my friend.” The boy said firmly, glancing from the target to his servant and then to Arthur. There was something unusual about the boys stare, unnerving. Arthur brushed aside that thought and moved closer, mentally scoffing at the child’s use of words.

“Do I know you?” Arthur asked with a raised eyebrow. If some child thought he could tell him what to do, well he had another thing coming.

“Er...” The boy looked puzzled before his face cleared in dawning realisation. “I’m Merlin.” The boy greeted holding out his hand. Arthur almost smirked; this was a little too easy. But then again, the kid was young.

“So I don’t know you.”

“...no.” 

“Yet you called me ‘friend’.”

“My mistake.” The boy muttered, glancing at the ground sullenly. 

“Yes, I think so.”

“Yeah, I’d never have a friend who was such an ass.” The boy met his astounded gaze before turning on his heel and leaving.

“Or I one who could be so stupid.” The retort was out of Arthur’s mouth before he knew it. Something inside him sank slightly, this was a _child_. He was trading verbal barbs with a _child_. The boy stopped walking and stiffened, his small shoulders setting.

The boy’s face was paler now and his eyes flickered over Arthur and the Knights who had come up behind him without his notice. 

But he didn’t back down.

His little chin squared, blue eyes darkening like storm clouds gathering.

Arthur turned round to glare at the Knights. They shouldn’t have crept up behind him, it made it seem like he was going to set them on a kid. A stupid notion but what else was the child going to think?

“Just go home to your mummy.” One of the Knights jeered. Arthur glared again; the kid had been leaving until he opened his mouth.

“Just because your mother is the only one who could love that face-” The boy never got to finish as Sir Kay, of course it was Kay – the man was good for a laugh but always picking fights – stepped forward and cuffed the lad across the face with a stinging blow.

The boy’s head snapped to the side, lip splitting and cheek flushing red from the hit. Arthur had no doubt that by tomorrow there would be a darkening bruise covering near half the boys face. Arthur reached forwards and grabbed a hold of Kay’s fist, preventing him from doing anything further should the boy decide to unleash any more smart comments.

“Enough.” He said quietly but firmly. He couldn’t have word going round that the Knights went round beating up children.

Sir Kay backed down but it was with the same sullen glower the young boy had sported.

“You alright, kid?” A Knight who had been standing towards the edge asked. Arthur hadn’t noticed his approach. Sir Leon was one of his best Knights and one of the quietest. Good for hunting or other stealthy tasks.

The boy spat out a small mouthful of blood. He’d bitten his tongue then.

“No teeth knocked loose.” He muttered, in the same tone someone would use when saying they were fine. Some part of Arthur admired the kid’s grit.

“Right, back to training! Three laps in full armour then I want to see how rusty your sword skills are.” Arthur ordered, raising his voice and ignoring the groans before heading to the tables to collect his helmet and telling his servant to get his shield. 

The next time he looked to the bottom of the training field there was no sign of the boy. He hadn’t expected there to be and he was more preoccupied with why his father had summoned him.

Surely he couldn’t _still_ be annoyed at Arthur’s reluctance to go to the feast!

 

#

 

“Arthur, do you recognise this?” Uther asked pointing to the broach on the table.

Gaius watched as Arthur’s face set, his shoulders straightened and the slow blink the only signs of his surprise.

“...Yes.” Arthur admitted slowly, evidently wondering where all this was leading.

“Where do you remember it from?” Uther pushed.

“I gave it to someone as a gift once.” Arthur said, eyes locked on the uninteresting wall behind Uther’s shoulder.

“Yes.” Uther’s lip curled. “Lady Ambrosius, wasn’t it?”

Arthur blinked, eyes shooting to his father in shock. After a long silence he seemed to realise some response was merited. 

“Yes, Sire.”

“You had...relations with this woman?”

A light dusting of pink tinged the Prince’s ears. 

“...Yes. Why is this re-”

Gaius almost felt sorry for the man who was little more than a boy really.

“Read this. I believe it relates to you.” Uther shoved the letter to his son. Gaius was almost sure that for a second amusement lit up the dark depths of the Kings eyes.

Gaius interlocked his fingers on the table.

“I care not for your dalliances – so long as they don’t interfere with state, your duties or offend an ally – but siring bastards was something I _ordered_ you not to do.” Uther said sternly. Gaius could see he wasn’t actually angry, a little cross but not truly angry, that boded well for the boy and Hunith. And Arthur.

“Is this-do I have-I have a child?”Arthur managed to force out his throat. Uther rolled his eyes.

“However, at least we know you can sire children, should he prove to be yours-”

“He? He’s a he?” Arthur interrupted sounding a little dazed. In fact the young man looked like he’d been struck over the head with a hammer.

“- _should_ he prove to be yours then there’s the messy business of inheritance, he can’t throw the kingdom into upheaval. Naturally he can’t be in line for the throne which means you’ll have to satisfy him and other nobles with something else when he gets older. There is no need to breed dissent in the household; he’ll be treated royally _if_ he is your son.”

Gaius blinked, that was more than he had expected. The points Uther made were valid and saying the lad would be a part of the royal household was something Gaius had not counted on.

He had thought, at most, that Merlin would be put into his care and vaguely acknowledged as related to the Pendragons.

Gaius was hesitant whether this was a good thing or not. The boy needed a stable footing now in life if he was to survive court later. Especially as the bastard of a Prince and one day King.

Plus with his gift of magic it would be far safer for the lad to live with him.

“Where-How old-is he here? In Camelot? Did Robin bring him?” Arthur asked obviously not taking in a word Uther was saying. Gaius felt his lips twitch traitorously. The Prince still looked poleaxed.

“ _Lady Ambrosius_ died, years ago. But yes, her son is here in Camelot.” Gaius put in before the King and Prince could begin to bicker.

“Can I see him? Does he look like me? Or Robin?” Impatience was evident in every word Arthur uttered and it was clearly costing the young man to stay standing and not rush out to personally seek out the child he did not know he had until then.

“We don’t yet know if he is truly your son. A letter is not proof enough. Nor a trinket.”

Uther’s words didn’t seem to dampen the curiosity that filled Arthur’s face.

“Who has he been living with, if Robin died?” Arthur asked, a slight frown puckering his face.

Gaius cleared his throat. “With my niece, Hunith.”

“When will they arrive, Gaius, I don’t have all day.” Uther asked impatiently as he read through one of the council reports left over from this morning.

“He decided to do some exploring and Hunith had to go find him. They’ll be along shortly, Sire.”

“Hmpf. A handful, is he?” Uther asked, not too irritably.

“Apparently.” Gaius murmured. He could hardly talk about the boy’s character after only having spoken to him once. And Hunith’s words could be biased; she loved the boy with all her heart.

A knock came from the door.

Gaius sighed quietly. The King had ordered them not to be disturbed, so it was most likely that the very two they were waiting on had arrived.

 

#

 

Merlin grimaced, resisting the urge to rub his sore cheek. It would swell, he knew and hurt. Plus it would soon be obvious what had happened when the bruise began to show, he wouldn’t be able to keep it hidden from his mother.

It wasn’t the hardest he’d ever been hit but he did wish the man in odd armour hadn’t been wearing a ring on his finger. Although he was glad he hadn’t been wearing that glove-like-thing with metal on. That would have _really_ hurt.

He wandered through the streets, still close to the castle, not sure of his direction just knowing he didn’t want to return to Gaius’ quarters just yet. The things in the rooms were interesting but he’d never liked being cooped up.

Mother would be unhappy though, she’d told him not to stray far and to be back before noon.

He decided since he was already late it didn’t matter if he was even later. 

Merlin grinned when he saw the statues up above and ran over, tracing the stone engravings with first his eyes and then his fingers. It was a dog! He growled at it playfully almost hearing the answering growl back.

He petted it gently on the head and scampered off. Perhaps now it was a good time to return, mother wouldn’t be too cross he hoped.

That decided he turned round and in his haste managed to trip over his own feet and slam down onto the ground.

Shoots of pain ran up his arms from where he’d stuck out his hands to break his fall and his knees throbbed.

“Ow.”

“Ouch, that looked like it hurt. Are you alright?” A voice asked kindly. Merlin looked up to see a pretty lady in a lavender dress, a basket of laundry she put on the ground as she crouched in front of him.

“I’m fine Miss.” Merlin answered then remembered his manners. “Thank you.”

She helped him to his feet and brushed off his trousers like his mother did.

“I’m Guinevere, but most people call me Gwen. I’m the Lady Morgana’s maid.” The pretty woman introduced with an even prettier smile.

“I’m Merlin, although most people just call me Idiot.” Merlin grinned, shaking her hand. Suddenly he found himself missing Will, he always called Merlin an idiot or a rascal, but he wouldn’t come with them to Camelot, he stayed in Ealdor. 

“Nice to meet you Merlin-who-is-not-an-idiot.” Gwen smiled. “So, should you be walking around here by yourself or are you supposed to be with your mother? Or father? Or guardian?” 

Merlin widened his eyes and put on his best innocent expression. It can’t have been very innocent because Gwen snorted in amusement and just looked at him.

“I’m supposed to be with mother.” He eventually admitted, he didn’t want to lie to Gwen; she’d been nice to him.

“And where is your mother?” Gwen asked.

“In Gaius’ rooms.” Merlin answered.

“Ah, well it so happens that I know Gaius so I can take you back there now.” Gwen said, reaching down and taking his hand.

“You know Gaius too? Mother says he’s her uncle.” It didn’t occur to Merlin’s childish logic that seeing a man once didn’t necessarily mean you _knew_ them. “But Miss Gwen, what about your basket?” Merlin asked when she led him down the first step.

A bell rang out signalling it was one hour after noon. Gwen jumped and glanced back to the basket then to the castle worriedly.

“Ah, I’m late. Right, Merlin will you be a good boy and come with me for a few minutes and then I’ll take you to your mother?” Gwen asked, glancing at the basket again. It didn’t occur to Merlin not to agree. 

Gwen had to let go of his hand to carry the basket so Merlin just scampered close to her skirts, following her through the twists and turns of the castle. Merlin’s eyes were round with wonder.

The castle was huge! And there were so many people bustling about! And was that a tapestry? He’d never seen one so big or ornate!

He ran his hands along the wall as they passed, Gwen continually looking over her shoulder to make sure he kept up, the stone was cool to touch and slightly roughened. Merlin preferred petting the stone dog.

They eventually got so far into the castle that they left all the other people behind hurrying about apart from more guards.

Gwen knocked on a set of doors, carefully balancing the basket, opening the door and walking in when another woman’s voice said to.

“Ah, Gwen, you should come over here and see what Lord Guthrie has sent me, it’s hilarious- oh, hello and you are?” The woman dressed in green asked when she spotted Merlin standing beside Gwen’s skirts. 

“Merlin, Miss.” Merlin answered, feeling the soothing roughness of Gwen’s skirt brush his hand.

He didn’t miss the questioning glance the woman with long dark hair sent Gwen.

“I found this one having a close encounter with the ground; I said I’d take him to his mother. If that’s alright, my Lady.”

“Its fine, Gwen. Is that how you hurt your face?” She directed this question to Merlin. Merlin shook his head in the negative.

“A Knight took a disliking to him.” Gwen murmured with distaste. Merlin was sure he wasn’t supposed to have heard that.

“Those brutes. Well, it was nice to meet you Merlin but I’m sure your mother is worried about you.” The lady turned, giving her attention to a flickering candle, a frown crossing her face.


	2. Well, that could have gone better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, Arthur meets his son for the first (second) time. Things do not go as planned. If there even was a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer.
> 
> Um...

Arthur clenched his fists as the knock came from the door. He had a son. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around that yet.

_(He had a son.)_

What was he like? Was he-did he-what did he look like?

His skin felt stretched over his bones, like it was suddenly too tight. His pulse thrummed in his veins and he had to actually fight to keep his composure. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he lost it. 

He wouldn’t break down and cry, or laugh hysterically like he’d at times seen his Knights do after a scuffle with bandits or anything that involved bloodshed. New recruits were usually little better than wilting flowers.

(He had a _son_.)

The door opened slowly, why was it moving so slowly? A woman, a peasant woman in a homespun dress that was obviously worn stepped into the room as his father bid and dropped into a low curtsy, bowing her head in deference. 

Arthur had seen actual royalty with less regal grace than the woman in front of him. As she pulled herself straight from the curtsy Arthur noted little else of import. She was average. Almost disappointingly so, had his son grown up with _her_? Brown hair, brown eyes, brown dress...drab.

Arthur resisted the urge to snap at the woman to move, to shift aside so he could get a good look at the child who stood behind her, the only evidence of his presence the small hand the woman held in her own.

“Your Grace,” The woman murmured, her voice wasn’t lilting like he imagined his mother’s to be, or sharply enthralling like Morgana’s. It wasn’t low or high...it was non-confrontational. 

What was his son’s voice like? Would it be like his when he grew? Or more like his father’s? Or perhaps he would take after his mother’s side of the family. A family Arthur knew nothing of.

“Show us the boy.” Uther demanded, taking a sip of rich red wine from his goblet. The woman murmured something, too low for Arthur to catch and gently pulled her hand forward along with a smaller one not her own and a pale arm.

Arthur leaned forward where he stood, eyes fixed on the appendage, greedily drinking in all the details as they were slowly revealed.

The boy-

( _He_ had a _son_.)

-stepped to the side, into view, with evident reluctance. His face set stony and dark brows furrowed over bright blue eyes, such a piercing shade that Arthur doubted had ever set foot on the earth before. In the sky maybe, but surely not on earth, not a colour that vibrant.

He drank in the features and couldn’t prevent a shocked inhale as he recognised the child. Recognised the bruise just beginning to darken the lads pale cheek, the split lip a marring the picture of childish innocence. 

Uther leaned forward in his seat.

Under the intense scrutiny from the two royals the boy squared his small chin, straightened his already tense shoulders and stared just as piercingly back.

Arthur had the brief, completely illogical, desire to laugh.

“Come here.” His father ordered, beckoning as one would to a dog. The boy glanced to the woman and took a single step forwards. The woman gently nudged him closer to the King.

“I wish to see your face, come here.” Uther demanded again, this time with more impatience. The child’s gaze flickered over Gaius, washing over Arthur with an all too short amount of time that left him near thrumming with the need to say something, to acknowledge _his child_ in some way.

A name came to him instead.

“Merlin!?” 

Of all things it was one of the last he wanted to voice. The boy – Merlin – jerked a little but didn’t glance over, too chained by the King’s stare. Uther, however, was not so transfixed.

“You know the boy?” 

Arthur swallowed. “I had a chance encounter earlier this day.” He answered but his father didn’t seem to care much.

The King’s hand shot out and Merlin wasn’t quite quick enough in his movements to jerk out the way. Not that he didn’t try.

“Stop squirming. I only want to look at you.” Uther demanded, coolly but not unkindly. Merlin stopped trying to escape and only winced as fingers brushed against the blossoming bruise while Uther gripped his chin in one hand turning the boy’s head this way and that, looking at his face from different angles.

Merlin wasn’t panicking, not that Arthur could see anyway, but there was something trapped about his gaze, something about the way his eyes darted, about the white knuckled grip the child had on his own tunic...something about the whole picture brought to mind a rabbit in a trap, knowing it was caught but still trying to escape.

Arthur wasn’t given to metaphors and the comparison unsettled him.

He watched the bob of the child’s throat as he swallowed.

Eventually his father let go, examining Merlin with less intensity and more thoughtfulness as he leaned back in his chair and took another sip from his goblet.

Merlin shifted on his feet but didn’t dare take a step backwards.

“You said you saw Arthur, Gaius. I disagree. I see Ygraine.”

Arthur blinked, surprised and a little confused at what his father had said. Merlin shifted again. Gaius made a small sound that might have been agreement.

Where did his mother come into this?

“How old are you?” Uther asked, this time directing his question to the child standing in front of him like he’d been caught in the middle of some wrong doing.

“Eight.” The boy answered promptly, with all the pride of a child believing themselves to be all grown up. “Sire.” He attached on the end after a small prompt from the peasant woman.

“And do you know your letters? Numbers?” 

Arthur resisted the urge to but in. If Merlin had been living as a peasant then there was little to no hope he could even recite the alphabet or count past twenty. The child frowned.

“I can read and write if that’s what you’re asking. Sire.” The sire was again tagged on as an afterthought. Arthur was rather surprised his father let it go.

The child was rather cheeky.

No doubt the boy was bluffing. He was eight, Arthur had hardly been fluent in reading when he was that age and his writing was best not thought about. Probably because he had despised his lessons and tutors, much preferring to be out under the sun doing something active.

“Here. Read this aloud.” Uther shoved a piece of parchment left over from the council meeting at the boy who nearly dropped it, jumping at the sudden movement.

“To det-er-mine the pre-cise stone to cut for the new repairs down in the lower town, Lord Belgraft will seek council on tomorrows morn from the stone masons before con-ferr-ing the matter further with the council the next time it con-ve-nes. The works shall commence at-”

“Enough.” Uther plucked the parchment from unresisting fingers. The child barely flinched this time at the King’s abrupt movement.

Arthur was surprised. For a child of ten he would have said they were bright. A boy of eight, a boy from peasant background (no matter his origins)...well, he was surprised. The reading was clear, even if the boy stumbled uncertainly over some of the larger more complex words he sounded them out coherently.

“If I wanted three hundred blocks of stone and each block cost two gold coins how many coins would I need?”

“Six hundred gold coins.” Merlin answered promptly, less than ten seconds after Arthur worked out the answer too.

“Who taught him?” This question was not directed at Merlin but at the peasant woman and Gaius.

“I did, Your Grace.” The peasant woman answered quietly.

“Any other topics?”

“Just a little history, Sire.”

“Hmmm. Very well. Gaius, organise some tutors for the boy, the full works. And get a tailor too. He can have a set of rooms in the East Wing.”

Arthur blinked at his father’s commands, a little thrown. His rooms were in the West Wing of the castle, his father had some in the North Wing and Morgana had the South.

“You. What do you want in return for your services these past eight years?” Uther asked the peasant woman, directly. “Speak up, name your reward.” The King prompted when she didn’t open her mouth fast enough.

“Nothing, Sire, it’s been a joy having Merlin.” The woman said slowly. Merlin looked confused but edged just a bit closer to the woman.

Uther’s eyes narrowed but he nodded.

“As you wish.” The King stated, getting to his feet and sweeping out the room.

Arthur couldn’t miss the slight relaxation of tense muscles from the child once the King was out of sight.

“Would you like to meet the boy?” Gaius whispered. Arthur nearly jumped; it was testament to how much the news that he had a son had thrown him, that Gaius could walk over to him unnoticed.

Arthur nodded slowly, not entirely sure he did now the moment came. He straightened his shoulders, he was a Knight of Camelot, Prince in fact, he was not too scared to speak to his own son.

“Are you planning on claiming him?” Gaius pressed, hesitation on his aged face. That stumped Arthur, was he going to acknowledge the boy as his own?

He nodded once more. Technically the decision had already been made for him, the truth would circulate the court rumours in no time at all, especially since the King had ordered tutors for the child and a set of rooms fit for a noble.

Gaius sighed and stepped towards Merlin who was standing beside the peasant woman talking quietly. The court physician murmured something in the woman’s ear then took a seat at the table, rubbing his face wearily.

The brown haired woman knelt to the ground in front of the boy, heedless of her dress and looked at the child solemnly. 

“Merlin, you remember that conversation we had a few days ago?” She prompted softly.

“The one about ‘Will not being right about everything’?” The child asked doubtfully, after a frown of thought. A smile curved the woman’s lips but the amusement was dampened with seriousness.

“No, dear, the one about your parentage.”

Merlin’s face cleared. He nodded.

“Well, we came to Camelot because your father lives here.” She continued.

Arthur blinked; he’d thought the boy knew why they had gathered. Surely at least Gaius would have told him? 

“Really?” Was that wariness in the boys voice or eagerness. Arthur couldn’t tell.

“That’s what this meeting was about.”

“Wait-it’s not the King is it?” Merlin’s face was a picture of horror; he looked practically ready to flee if anyone gave even a twitch.

Arthur felt a little indignant on his father’s behalf, what was wrong with being the son of Uther Pendragon? There was no need for the kid to look so terrified by the prospect. Awed maybe, not _scared_.

“No,” Merlin’s face relaxed in relief. “It’s his son,” There was that look of horror again. “Prince Arthur.” The woman finished.

Arthur stepped forward; Merlin jumped at the movement, staring up at him, those thin shoulders tense once more.

Arthur cleared his throat.

“I’ll show you to your rooms.” Arthur frowned. That wasn’t what he’d meant to say at all.

 

#

 

The walk to the East Wing was uncomfortable. Silent. Awkward. 

Arthur had no idea what to say, or even if he should breach the hushed atmosphere broken only by their footsteps on the stone.

Merlin spent the walk beside the peasant woman, shooting him confused looks when he wasn’t staring at the walls.

Gaius had excused himself to return to his duties; apparently he had to deliver some medications.

Once the woman seemed to realise that he wasn’t going to talk (what on earth could he say?) she tried to draw them into conversation.

After a couple of failed attempts she seemed to give it up as a bad job.

“Merlin, where did you get that bruise from? You didn’t trip over again, did you?” The woman asked, her eyes flickering from the child to Arthur. Okay, maybe she hadn’t given up yet.

His stomach sank slightly and he quickened his step unnoticeably.

Arthur glanced at the bruise, the dark mark seemed to dominate the small face, the split lip an adornment to draw the eye.

“Yes.” The boy answered without a bat of an eyelash, holding up his grazed palms as proof. Arthur stumbled slightly over his own feet. Merlin didn’t even look at him.

A barefaced lie told with such innocence. 

Arthur was used to lies, the courtly kind, the one nobles insisted on displaying, the (rare) nice ones – _doesn’t that hat look nice_ (it didn’t) – but he detested the ruse and he was utterly rubbish at fabrication. According to Morgana. (He didn’t like to agree with her but facts seemed to be in her favour.)

That was _his son_. Should he feel like scolding the lad or proud at the ability? 

“You should remember to look before you leap.” The woman chastised gently, the fondness in her tone belying the amount of times she must have repeated the same thing.

Arthur made his excuses when they reached the set of rooms, leaving the peasant woman and _his son_ to deal with the flurry of servants dusting, airing and generally making the room fit for a prince.

He didn’t lie; he did have some important duties to get back to.

But...

He felt eyes on his back until he turned the corner.

 

#

 

“Ah, Arthur.” His father greeted as he entered the relatively small room a sheaf of reports in his arms.

“Father.” Arthur returned with respectful tilt of the head. He placed the parchment on the small space left on the large desk that Uther motioned towards.

“Your son...” Uther trailed off looking mildly discomfited. “What are your...thoughts on him?”

Arthur blinked. Was his father...checking on his mental state?

“Small.” Arthur answered promptly. Uther looked torn between laughter and despair. “Quiet, I suppose. Cheeky.” He murmured, remembering just a few hours earlier when the child attempted to scold him over his behaviour.

“And the peasant woman?” Uther asked, glancing at the reports.

“What?”

“What do you think of her? Considering she has had the last eight years to brainwash the boy.”

“Bland. She seems to hold sway over the child.” Arthur answered uncertainly, caught in the loop. Was there really some sinister design in bringing his son to him? He recalled the times Merlin had looked towards the brown haired woman whenever he was uncertain.

“Is is a good idea to let her see him? Surely better companions could be found?” Arthur asked.

“Yes, but best not to destabilise the child so soon. He’s only just arrived after all. Let him keep a bit of security for a short while longer. He won’t need it soon and he’ll easily discard her.” 

“Yes, father.”

“Keep an eye on her.” 

And he was dismissed.

 

#

 

He glanced at the boy dressed in some clothes of Arthur’s as a child that had been hastily fitted to Merlin’s slenderer frame. Were children supposed to be that small? Had he ever looked that breakable? Surely not, he’d been sturdier of build, solid. Merlin looked like a strong breeze would whisk him away.

His hand clenched around the silver fork and he had to focus on placing it back down onto the table and relax his fingers enough to let go.

His gaze went back to the child without his consent. Did all children look so frail? 

The boy grinned, darting across the hall to speak with Morgana’s maidservant.

The candlelight flickered oddly over the child’s elfin face, pitch black hair contrasting with the pale skin. 

Skin too fine for a commoner, Uther had said. 

It wasn’t long before Merlin made his way back to his seat, close enough to acknowledge his importance but not close enough to the King and Prince for them to talk without shouting.

Arthur cursed that fact all the while recognising he would have no idea what to say if they could talk.

“He’s sweet. Nothing like _you_ , thank goodness.” Morgana said, a teasing smile on her painted lips.

His lips pursed. When had Morgana spent enough time with the child to start forming opinions on his nature? Actually, scratch that, when had she been told that Merlin was his son?

“The poor boy.” She murmured, almost to herself.

“Poor? He’s anything but poor now he’s come to Camelot. Father’s been more generous than I expected.” Arthur protested. Morgana shot him a glare that could peel the flesh off a living man. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, he was used to her.

“Yes, he’s been uprooted from his previous lifestyle, brought to a foreign place under the scrutiny of a harsh king,” Her lip curled and Arthur wondered what his father had done to displease her this time. “Brought in front of a man who claims to be his father yet doesn’t even speak to him, a man whose Knights _physically accosted_ him. He’s been brought into the very vipers nest of court. A royal bastard, the highest irony. I shan’t be surprised if he runs off into the night one day.” Morgana said in hushed tones, the venom in her voice no less potent for all that she was careful to let only he hear her.

Arthur blinked, leaning back in his chair and mulling over her words.

“It’s hardly that bad. The food at least is sure to be better.” He returned lightly. Maybe a better diet would make Merlin seem less...flimsy.

Morgana huffed at his unconcern, probably angrier he dismissed her pretty speech than anything else.

Still, her words nagged at him.

He’d take over the boy’s combat training, once he was trained up that would offer Merlin some measure of protection.

The chatter in the hall quietened and Arthur realised Lady Helen had risen to sing. He waited expectantly, he wasn’t particularly enamoured by her singing but his father wouldn’t be pleased if he openly showed his boredom.

It wouldn’t do to isolate such a celebrated performer after all.

The first few notes drifted over him, the hairs on his neck tingled, his eyelids suddenly felt so very heavy. He could feel a yawn bubbling up. His head drooped onto the table, he was just so tired. He couldn’t even muster up enough energy to lift his eyelids.

It seemed he had just closed his eyes when he was blinking awake, sitting up and looking round in confusion.

Cobwebs? 

He wasn’t the only one who had fallen asleep.

What had-

A weight shoved into him, hard. Knocking him to the ground and landing on his chest with enough force to drive the air from his lungs. A familiar ‘thunk’ sounded. Arthur glanced up, still trying to return the air to his lungs and shoving the weight off of him.

He stilled, looking up at the knife that was seated hilt deep into the chair he had been sitting in not moments before turning to the boy lying at his side propped up on his elbow looking just as surprised.

“You’re heavier than you look.” The stupid comment was out of his mouth before he could think.

Merlin blinked at him then his expression warred between amused and affronted.

He got to his feet and opened his mouth, this time to thank the child, as much as he hated to utter those words but his father spoke before he could.

“A reward for saving my son’s life. Name the treat you want.”

The child hesitated.

“Don’t be so modest.” Uther chided.

“Can moth-Hunith stay with me?” The child asked hopefully.

“Of course. I’ll see some honey cakes are sent over your way so you can have first pick.” Uther added. Arthur couldn’t quite decide if his father was being patronising or attempting to spoil the child in his own way.

It was difficult to tell. 

There was relief on that small face, and happiness.

“Thank you!” Merlin exclaimed and Arthur knew it wasn’t for the honey cakes or what the recognition him being served before everyone else, even the King, meant.

He ran his fingers over the wooden grain of the chair armrest. Clearly the peasant woman meant far more to the child than he’d suspected. Probably far more than his father thought too.

He ran his eyes over the dagger then to the woman lying on the ground, the chandelier on top of her like some obscure wreath. 

Merlin followed his gaze and the spark of happiness that had suffused his face with an inner light extinguished faster than a snuffed out candle. Those achingly blue eyes locked and widened on the prone form.

Not quite sure why he did it Arthur stepped into Merlin’s line of sight, blocking the dead body from view.

Merlin sucked in a startled breath.

“Is-is she d-dead?” He asked in a whisper.

“...Yes.” Arthur answered, completely out of his depth. What was he supposed to do?

Merlin’s face fell and his small hands shook. 

This wasn’t too far out of his realm, his Knights – when they were new – occasionally acted in such a way. Before death became a natural part of their lives.

He pressed his palm firmly on the lad’s shoulder. It didn’t quite have the calming effect Arthur had hoped for. Merlin jumped, twisting out of his loose grip, backing up just a step and looking at him with the same wariness he had shown through all their encounters.

In fact, he had been less wary when he hadn’t known Arthur was his father.

Had the boy not seen a dead body before? Almost as if he could hear Arthur’s thoughts the young boy scowled.

“I’ve seen bodies before.” The boy muttered as though daring anyone to disagree. His eyes flickered in the direction of what had been Lady Helen but Arthur was still in the way.

Merlin’s hands were still shaking, he was trembling almost. Again Arthur felt lost. What was he supposed to do? Tell the boy to buck up and get over it?

The words seemed to stick in his throat every time he tried.

“Merlin,” A soft voice called and Arthur was almost relieved as the peasant woman stepped into view. Scratch that, he was relieved when she knelt on the floor and clasped the child in an embrace. The shudders seemed to fall away as Merlin sagged into her arms, pressing his face into her dress.

“Come on Merlin, it’s been a long day. Why don’t we get you to bed?” The woman prompted after a couple of minutes were neither moved. The child shook his head stubbornly and she sighed before straightening up the boy in her arms, face still pressed into her neck.

“Sire.” She nodded before turning away and with light steps unobtrusively leaving the hall with _his son_. 

Arthur watched them go, a curious mix of emotions swelling inside. A small part of him was relieved that the responsibility of sorting out Merlin had been taken from his shoulders. An even smaller part of him was envious that the woman, a peasant woman no less, knew how to deal with the situation with evident ease.

Neither of those... _feelings_ explained the sense of loss he felt at watching that tuft of black hair recede. 

A small part of Morgana’s words dismissed from earlier resounded in his mind. _He_ was a _father_.

Somehow, that was entirely different to having a son.

 

#

 

Arthur stifled a yawn as he wandered through the castle halls.

Maybe it was all the excitement from earlier but he was far too keyed up to sleep and lying in his chambers had just made him increasingly restless. So he was pacing through the castle like a man demented. 

Earlier the events had unfolded a little too quickly for Arthur to take them in and so now he was running his mind over them, as was his wont, picking through and noticing things he’d dismissed before.

They were very lucky the chandelier had chosen that moment to break...he should ask his father to get someone to check the fastenings of the other ones, it wouldn’t be good at all if more broke and fell on people who were not causing sorcery next time.

Maybe something to do with her singing had loosened the bolts or something. He didn’t know how magic worked really.

A shuffling noise came from up ahead and Arthur approached feeling for the comforting weight of the dagger on his hip.

A rustle of clothing, the torches flickered; a shadow approached growing larger and there-

Oh, it was only one of the serving maids. Arthur put back his dagger feeling a little foolish about his jumpiness. He frowned when he noticed her arms were cradling something, a bundle. The woman stepped forward and Arthur recognised the features.

“Hunith? What are you doing?” Arthur asked, trying not to let suspicion enter his voice. She didn’t jump at his question nor flee. Arthur wondered if that meant she was a consummate actress or actually doing something innocent.

“Hmmm? Oh, I was just getting some warm milk and honey to help Merlin sleep, Sire.” She answered, holding up a cup wrapped in cloth to retain the heat.

“Is he not asleep yet then?” He asked in disapproval. It was closer to the early hours of the morning than night time.

“He gets nightmares sometimes.” Hunith answered without offense.

Arthur frowned, he could still remember Morgana’s screams as she thrashed about, locked in her mind terrors when they were children and he had been about to play a prank. The screams had startled him at the time, he’d thought she’d woken up, then came the fear when he realised she was still asleep.

What could be so painful as to make Morgana (one of the toughest people Arthur knew) scream until her throat was raw?

He had shaken her awake, unable to listen any longer and received a slap for his efforts from her flailing limbs.

When she had somewhat recovered, she had just looked at him, staring with such haunted eyes that he hadn’t been able to bear it. He’d walked away back to his rooms. By the morning, when they’d met for breakfast, nothing had been said on the matter and nothing ever was.

“Gaius could prescribe a sleeping remedy.” Arthur suggested. Hunith shook her head with a faint smile.

“Thank you for the kind thought, sire, but these are night terrors Merlin needs to work through himself if he is to be free of them. And probably brought on through the stress of the day.”

It took Arthur longer than it should have to realise she wasn’t only talking of the events at dinner.

“Ah, well, I should let you-”

“Mother?” A childish piping voice called, small and nearly inaudible footsteps approaching.

Arthur’s stomach clenched. ‘Mother’. He’d been wrong, Uther was wrong. Hunith meant far more to Merlin than they’d assumed. And it seemed Merlin meant more to Hunith than Arthur had guessed at too.

The little boy stepped around the corner, one hand rubbing his eyes, dressed in loose clothing that made him seem all the smaller. 

“Merlin, what are you doing out of bed?” Hunith asked, her voice softening for the child.

“You were gone a long time.” The boy answered, stepping closer and leaning into her side.

“Well I got a little lost and had to retrace my steps from the kitchens. You didn’t go back to sleep?”

“No. Shadows.” The boy answered as though it explained everything. Hunith seemed to understand. 

“Hmmm, well let’s go back to bed and you can drink your milk and honey while I chase away the big bad shadows.” 

Merlin frowned sleepily.

“Not ‘fraid of the shadows.” He protested. Hunith smiled at the childish bravado. Arthur tried to keep his own amusement at bay. “I just don’t like what’s _in_ them.” The child continued.

Hunith’s face fell and she looked at the boy worriedly. Arthur didn’t see what was so worrisome but then women did tend to fuss over the oddest things.

“Goodnight, Sire.” Hunith murmured, leading the sleepy boy back to his chambers.

And Arthur was once again left to his own devices in the hall. He sighed and made his way back to his own rooms. He should try to get to sleep.

After all, he was an adult; he didn’t need warm milk to help him drift off.


End file.
